


our pictures in the snow

by lilabut



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood and Gore, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Drabble Collection, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Language, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Interlude, Past Child Abuse, Past Domestic Violence, Romance, Set between Season 2 and 3, Sexual Content, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-01
Updated: 2016-06-30
Packaged: 2018-07-11 15:31:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 30
Words: 14,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7058263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilabut/pseuds/lilabut
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One month of one drabble per day, all set during that wonderful time that is the winter between season two and three. These are not connected and in no particular order, not all are canon compliant. There will be a little bit of everything from angst to fluff to smut to drama.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. in the winter night sky

**Author's Note:**

> Story title is taken from _You Are a Memory_ by Message to Bears.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carol can't sleep. Daryl is on watch. A sweet moment on a lonely porch.

Carol buries her fingers in the pockets of her coat, the air biting at her face. The porch steps whine and creak, telling tales over a century old when ladies in fine dresses tip-toed down the white stairs with umbrellas shielding their luminous skin from the sun in a pale blue sky.

 

Sighing at the thought, Carol sinks down on the second step. The weathered wood, paint peeling off the splintered planks, is freezing, and she tugs at her coat.

 

 _Y'ain't got watch_ , Daryl states, his breath a misty cloud in the light of the moon reflecting from the snow. He is sitting on the step next to her, the crossbow leaning against his chins. _Should stay inside._

 

 _I couldn't sleep_ , Carol sighs, watching the line of trees across the gravel driveway, once neatly trimmed hedges now wild and untamed, glistening with icicles. _I can take over if you want._

 

Daryl just shakes his head. They both know that he can sleep no better than she can.

 

They sit in silence for a long while. _Need ta get y'a better coat_ , Daryl says eventually. Knowing that her lips must have taken on a pale shade of blue, quivering just like the rest of her body, there is no point in denying it.

 

A grin spreads across her face, a little crooked perhaps because her mouth is as numb as the rest of her. _Or you could keep me warm_ , she quips, nudging her elbow gently into Daryl’s ribcage.

 

He snorts, looking away. _Stop._

 

But when she scoots closer to him he does not pull away. When her shoulder presses into his, he tenses for a brief moment, throat bopping as he swallows. Then, slowly, he relaxes. It is a pleasant surprise, and Carol can not hold in the little sigh that breaks from her throat when his warmth prickles against her arm.

 

The sound stirs Daryl, and he turns to look at her, eyes widening when he realizes how close their faces are. In the small space the fog of their breaths mingles, warm and damp against skin tightened from the cold. Carol's eyes flicker towards his lips and her heart skips a beat when he actually moves in closer. Just an inch.

 

Doing the same, her breath stutters, her hands balling into fists in her pockets. They are close enough now to smell the canned peaches they had for dinner and instinct kicks in, eyes fluttering closed. Then, ever so slightly, she can feel his lips against hers, just the barest brush, light as a summer breeze.

 

An all too familiar bone-chilling sound rips through the night, and they both jump apart. Daryl is on his feet in front of her, crossbow aimed in less than a heartbeat. Carol sighs when she sees the walker a few yards away, emerging from between the trees. A pale woman with long dark hair and a white summer dress, the hem kissing the blanket of snow.

 

She falls silently to the ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title taken from _King And Lionheart_ by of Monsters and Men.


	2. all the souls you failed to save

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sophia still haunts them both.

Nobody even seems to notice that she has disappeared. Spreading out their worn bedrolls in the living room (her pack abandoned by the cramped bookshelf), stirring the flames in the small and dusty fireplace, heating up yet another can of bland beans. Keeping busy. It is all they can do these days.

 

But Daryl notices that she has gone the second he steps into the room, arms loaded with more firewood. Setting it down quietly by the door, he makes his way to the staircase in five long strides.

 

There is only one place she can be. He cleared the upstairs bedrooms himself earlier. All three of them.

 

She stands in the middle of the smallest room, long, thin arms wrapped around herself – holding herself together. The floorboards creak beneath his heavy boots when he steps into the quiet room. She never even flinches, gloved fingers never reaching for the knife strapped to her side. A small, shy part of him likes to believe she simply knows it's him. But a larger part worries too much to accept that.

 

The room is painted yellow – rich and gentle like a jar of mustard seeds. Drawings are pinned neatly to the walls – elephants, donkeys, wonky giraffes and suns with smiling faces. Carol's boots have left a trail of mud on the floor where stuffed animals are scattered. In the small bed – white frame and flowery sheets – a pool of blood the size of a small child has soaked through the mattress. Speckles of crimson join the fluorescent stars glued to the wall.

 

He stands a few feet behind her for a few minutes, silent. _I miss her_ , Carol whispers then, reaching out to trail her hand over the roof of a dollhouse.

 

_M' sorry_ , he mutters. For the first time. For the only time.

 

She does not tell him not to be, does not say another word when she slowly sinks down into the rocking chair. Picking at the seam of a throw pillow – a field of wildflowers stitched onto the minty green fabric – she begins to hum. First, it is so quiet that he nearly misses it. But then there is no denying it. A gentle tune that sways with the wind fills the cold room. A lullaby.

 

He _is_ sorry. Sorry for not finding her little girl. But even more so - and it eats him alive - he is sorry that he can not carry the weight of the loss for her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title taken from _Lullaby_ by Sia.


	3. the warmth in your eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU where the group never left the farm. Carol worries about Daryl.

Carol ducks her head, carefully balancing the two steaming mugs in her hands. The tent makes a familiar flapping sound in the wind, the harsh cold piercing her down to the marrow of her bones. She sets the mugs down on the small folding table in the corner, a gas lamp flickering and casting a milky white glow in the cramped space. A few bolts are scattered on the table, the crossbow leaning against it.

 

Daryl is rummaging through a shoe box, one of a few stacked in the back of the tent, containing his meager belongings.

 

Quickly, Carol unlatches her boots, working meticulously as to not carry too much snow into Daryl's tent. Then, with trembling, numb fingers, she zips up the tent behind her.

 

_Only got a few of 'em left_ , Daryl declares, holding up a crinkling package of the stale chocolate chip cookies they have been sharing in secret for a few weeks. She chuckles, sitting down on the mess of sleeping bag and blankets with her legs tucked beneath her, shoving her feet into the sleeping bag. Eager for warmth, she reaches for one of the mugs, curling her fingers around it. The effect is instant, her skin prickling like pins and needles. _Must be runnin' outta that, too._

 

Taking a sip of her cocoa, Carol smiles. _Not for a little while._

 

They sit in comfortable silence like this until their mugs are nearly emptied. Outside, the wind howls, rattling the tent. _I really wish you'd come into the house_ , Carol confesses – not for the first time. Daryl only shakes his head, wiping away some drops of cocoa that got stuck in his beard with the pad of his thumb. _You're going to freeze to death out here._

 

She can hardly sleep most nights, curled into her sleeping bag on the living room floor, worried they'd find Daryl's frozen corpse roaming the grounds the next morning. Some nights, she steals out onto the porch, wrapped in her coat, watching the light flickering in his tent. Just to be sure.

 

_Here._ Daryl offers her one of the cookies, dropping the conversation. With a sigh, she takes it, dunking the dry treat into what is left of her drink.

 

_I'm worried about you_ , she says quietly, almost expecting the blush that tints his cheeks red in response. Chewing on his cookie, he averts his gaze, and Carol feels an all too familiar sting in her chest.

 

_Ain't gotta worry 'bout me._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title taken from _Winter Winds_ by Mumford  & Sons.


	4. flames flicker and wave for us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daryl can't help but stare.

The flames of the fire are withering in the cold wind, casting beams of orange lights and shadows on Carol's pale face. The curve of her jaw. The straight line of her nose. The hollows of her cheeks, proof of too little to eat (his fingers itch to shove his bowl of canned peas into her lap, but she'd only refuse). The shadows under her powder blue eyes from too many restless nights. The freckles that cover her skin like tiny splotches of paint. Or the stars.

 

Her hair is starting to grow out, Daryl notices, eyes glued to the nape of her neck where her scarf has edged downwards. Small tendrils of silver glow in the dim light, and he wonders if they'd feel as damn soft as they look.

 

They are all filthy at this point, unwashed, covered in mud and sweat and crusted guts, wearing the same clothes for weeks on end. It hardly matters, though. Carol looks pretty no matter what.

 

_Do I have something in my hair?_ she asks suddenly, keeping her voice down. Daryl feels his empty stomach drop when she stares right at him.

 

_Eh_ , he mutters, wanting to slap himself, lost for words. _No._ Carol's brows furrow and she shifts her weight on the fallen tree trunk they are sitting on. He tears his eyes away from her, instead watching Rick sitting stiff as a rock a few yards away, his gun at the ready. Beth is heating up more peas over the fire, Lori and Carl curled up and asleep already.

 

_Then what is it?_ Carol presses, running a hand self-consciously through her short hair. Daryl can only stare at the soggy peas in his hands.

 

_Ain't nothin'_. Merle would have a piece to say right now. If he could read his thoughts. Pretty. Screw that. Pretty stuff never mattered shit, even before the world ended. And it definitely doesn't matter now.

 

He dares one more side-way glance, cursing silently. Shit. Whether it matters nor not... Carol's _damn_ pretty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title taken from _A Place For Us_ by Mikky Ekko.


	5. breathing in fumes (I taste when we kiss)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Being this close to Daryl is the only thing that keeps Carol warm these days.

This is the only way Carol still feels warm.

 

When Daryl's hands grasp at her like she is the only solid thing left in the entire world. When his lips crash into hers, or when he mouths at her neck with them, sucks at her nipples where he pulled down her worn bra. When he is inside her, hard and warm and strong. When she sneaks her hand into his pants to curl around the base of him, stroking until he groans her name like a prayer. When he buries his face between her legs.

 

They are getting better at this. The first few times, the others nearly caught them, out looking for them worriedly. But that has not happened in months. A part of her wonders if they simply figured out the truth. It's a thought that makes her cringe, and she wills it away, focuses instead on Daryl's lips skimming over her hammering pulse point, sinking his teeth into the curve where her neck meets her shoulder. The tender flesh aches, but he soothes the pain away with his rough tongue.

 

His hand is shoved between them, where everything is warm for once. His fingers circle over her flesh, brushing against where he is slamming into her. There is never enough time or space. All they managed was to shed their coats, Carol shoving her pants and underwear down to her knees, Daryl unbuckling his belt until she swatted his hand away and pulled him out, impatient.

 

Carol can feel herself fluttering around him, the muscles in her lower belly tightening as she nears the edge. This does not always happen, but she hardly cares – that is not what this is about. But something about the way Daryl bent them both over the back of the ratty couch and is pounding into her, the rough pad of his thumb mashing over her and his mouth caressing her neck is _just perfect_.

 

She crashes over the edge with a moan that is too loud, and Daryl's hand comes up to cover her mouth quickly, fingers wet and musky and she does not give a damn in the world. Her eyes squeeze shut, stars flickering in the dark and wave after wave washes over her. Daryl grunts into the back of her neck, picking up speed, thrusting into her so deeply that she nearly tumbles over. Then he freezes, her name muffled by her own skin, and she feels him release inside her, everything warm and sticky and spreading through her veins like fire blazing through a forest.

 

This does not happen very often, either. Usually, he pulls out – a foolish attempt at preventing a disaster.

 

_M'sorry_ , he pants, dropping his hand from her mouth and resting it against her flat stomach. Carol turns her head, silencing him with a kiss.

 

This is always the same. After. When they are warm and sated and the world might as well be alright for just a few more minutes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title taken from _Stripped_ by Shiny Toy Guns.


	6. love is to be made

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carol teases Daryl.

_What'ya doin' down there?_

 

Carol looks up from where she is crouching on the gray-tiled floor. Daryl is peering over one of the nearly empty shelves, his hair beginning to grow into his face. A few weeks ago, she offered to cut it for him, but the only reply she received was a slightly offended grunt.

 

_Figured we could get some condoms for Maggie and Glenn_ , she explains, holding up the green box with a serious expression. Inside, she is already bursting with contained laughter. Daryl's eyes widen a little and he nearly knocks over a bottle of cough syrup on the shelf in front of him. _It's hard enough with Lori being pregnant_ , Carol adds, biting away a cheeky grin as her voice takes on a more serious tone.

 

Daryl nods then, but she does not miss the tiniest hint of a blush on his cheeks. Not even the shadow of his growing beard can quite hide it.

 

All in all, the pharmacy is a bit of a disappointment. It had looked almost untouched from the outside, posters and advertisements still neatly in place, some shelves loaded. There had not been a single walker inside.

 

But other than the condoms, two boxes of tampons, a few wet wipes, toothpaste and a packet of mild pain killers, Carol has come up empty. These days, however, nothing is worthless.

 

Her legs are growing tired from crouching, and so she rises back up, watching as Daryl goes over the list Hershel wrote for them. He looks focused, his arms hidden under a leather jacket, crossbow slung over his shoulder. Much to her surprise, Carol realizes that she does not mind his longer hair all that much. It makes him look younger, and with the weight they have all lost since they left the farm, she is starting to become a little too fascinated with the structure of his jaw and cheekbones.

 

_Or we could use them ourselves_ , she quips, her lips curving into a mischievous smile.

 

Daryl looks up, for one sweet, innocent moment completely oblivious to what she meant. But then his eyes widen again as he looks down at the box in her hands. _Stop_ , he snorts, a familiar sort-of-laughter bubbling roughly from his chest. Carol joins in, giggling. She does not miss it, though, when his eyes harden and his gaze flickers down to the box and then... her lips? It happens so quickly that she can not be sure.

 

As he shoves some pill boxes into his bag, Carol looks down at her hands. With a light chuckle to herself, she slips her fingers under the lid of the box, careful not to tear it. It can't hurt, she thinks to herself as she grabs a few condoms, slipping them into one of her pockets, saving them for a rainy day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title taken from _Comes And Goes_ by Greg Laswell.


	7. between the lines of fear and blame

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daryl is injured and refuses to let anyone help him. Until Carol reveals a part of her past.

Drying her hands on a dishtowel, Carol steps into the living room just in time to witness what she assumes is the grand finale of an exhausting fight. She hasn't even noticed that Daryl returned from his hunt, busy washing their clothes in the basin in the basement. But there he stands in the middle of the room, hair disheveled, crossbow on the floor, one of his wings weeping blood.

 

_Just leave me alone_ , he hollers at Maggie, pushing past her briskly. He yanks open the door to one of the unused bedrooms, nearly pulling it out of its frame. With a loud bang, it falls shut.

 

Maggie stands there mortified, Beth and Lori curled up on the couch with wide eyes. Carl and T-Dog are hovering by the front door, just as quiet.

 

* * *

 

 

_Daryl, it's me_ , she says quietly after knocking softly on the door. She's surprised to find it unlocked, and without waiting for his reply, she slips into the room.

 

Setting the first aid kit down on the drawer, she takes in the sad sight of him. He sits on the edge of the stripped bed, jacket and vest dumped onto the floor, elbows resting on his knees.

 

_Didn't mean ta shout at 'er_ , he mutters, sounding wretchedly sorry.

 

_I know_ , Carol says quietly. _You're hurt._

 

_Hershel can do it._ That confirms it. He is waiting for Hershel, who has treated him before. Who has seen the carnage on his back before.

 

She sighs. _They won't be back for a few hours. We need to clean that now._

 

Daryl only shakes his head. _Nah, I'm good._

 

Taking a few steps forward, Carol sinks down on the soft mattress next to him. It comes as no surprise when he doesn't look up.

 

Blood is beginning to crust around a tear in his shirt, a few fresh pearls occasionally soaking through the green fabric. It will get infected. He might get sick. She might lose him.

 

There is too much at stake, and her heart aches that she will have to press him on this.

 

Her nerves flutter when she reaches out, curling her hand gently around his wrist. He tenses, but allows her to pull his hand towards her. Turning his head, he eyes her with a mixture of curiosity and caution. Slowly, she pulls his arm behind her, his knuckles brushing along the dips of her spine.

 

_What'ya doin'?_ he rasps, and she wonders if he is choking back tears, his voice hoarse and dry. Shaking her head, she moves quickly, pushing his hand underneath her shirt. He freezes, eyes wide. And then he feels it.

 

Four circles of puckered skin in a neat line over her tailbone. He inhales sharply, and when she pulls her hand away, his fingers linger. Softly, the pad of his thumb brushes over the scars, one by one.

 

_Let me clean the wound_ , she pleads, tears brimming in her eyes.

 

He swallows.

 

_M'sorry._

 

A gentle smile. _So am I._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title taken from _How To Save A Life_ by The Fray.


	8. smile and close your eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carol and Daryl keep each other warm.

_Ya better now?_

 

Carol hums in approval, shuffling backwards a little so that her back is pressed up against his chest even more. Not even a sheet of paper could fit between them now. She's convinced that if he wasn't also shivering like a leaf in the wind he'd probably be stiff as a board, countering her every move. Usually, she accepts his boundaries and stays out of his personal space, instead enjoying every brief moment of respite he grants her, every weak smile or hidden blush.

 

But right now, her feet numb in her boots and her teeth clattering so loudly that sleep seems entirely out of reach, she simply does not care. Surprisingly, Daryl does not seem to be bothered all that much, either, and it is a gift she selfishly accepts.

 

They are at the far back of the storage unit, and the smell in the small space reminds her of her grandma's old storm cellar. Moldy and damp. Everyone else is also curled up in pairs, except for Rick and T-Dog who have taken over watch and are enduring the cold wind outside.

 

Carl is talking quietly to his mother, and even in the constricted space, Carol can not make out the words. It's a private conversation, anyway, and she is too distracted by the warmth seeping through her clothes where Daryl is pressed up against her. It's a little awkward, she will admit that. His face is buried against the back of her neck, his leg has slipped between hers, and the hand on her waist seems a little unsure what to do.

 

Not giving herself time to over think it (and entirely unwilling to spend the rest of the night laying next to Daryl fidgeting around), she grabs that hand, curls their fingers together and buries them under one of the many blankets that cover them. _Goodnight, Daryl_ , she whispers quietly, squeezing his hand.

 

He grunts in response, sounding sleepy already. He'd been on watch for hours out in the cold, staring into the darkness. Carol shivers when his breath tickles the back of her neck, the small hairs there rising, the vibrations of his voice tickling down her spine.

 

Smiling sweetly to herself, she allows her eyes to flutter open. A few feet away, Maggie is grinning at her.

 

In the end, Carol is glad it's a little too dark for her to see the blush creeping into her cheeks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title taken from _Don't Go Slow_ by Benjamin Francis Leftwich.


	9. where does time go from here?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Daryl does not return from a hunting trip, they all have a choice to make.

Worry eats away another part of her each time he leaves. To hunt. To scavenge. To get away from the misery and the suffocating closeness just for a little while. But he always comes back. Today should be no different.

 

After five hours, she starts to grow restless. Counts the cans of food they still have left (even though she knows exactly how many there are). Reads parts of the medical textbook about childbirth for the sixth time (even though she knows it all by heart at this point). Cleans her rifle (even though she has not used it in weeks).

 

After the sun sets, she stands outside the shed's door, arms folded around herself, staring into the open field that stretches on, frozen ground sparkling in the moonlight.

 

During the night, tossing and turning on the cold, hard ground, she wills away all imagines of what might have happened to him. Tells herself that he _will_ come back, will blush and brush it all of when they tell him how worried they all were.

 

In the morning, he still has not returned, and they all look at her with something in their eyes that she recognizes too well.

 

There is a moment, brief but utterly terrifying, when a thought flickers through her mind. Perhaps, he simply ran away. To be on his own. She did not understand for the longest time why he ever returned to their camp that day after they failed to save his brother in Atlanta. Why he stuck with them all these months. Now she gets it, and she feels ashamed of herself for even considering that he abandoned them.

 

After a whole day has passed, she asks Rick if they can go looking for him. _No one is going out on their own. And we can't risk getting split up. He knew that._ His words sound cold, as they always do these days. But he sighs and rests a hand on her arm before walking away with heavy shoulders.

 

They remain in the shed for a lot longer than usual, by silent agreement.

 

After the third day ends, snow falling in thick flakes, Carol can feel in her heart that he is dead. It hurts less than any other option.

 

They leave the next morning, packing up in absolute silence. Struggling to breathe, she rolls up his cold sleeping bag.

 

_I am so sorry, Carol_ , Lori whispers with a somber expression of resignation on her face, taking her hand.

 

She nods, barely. A silent, lonely tear trails down her cheek. _I just... He shouldn't have had to die out there, all alone._

 

They leave behind a blanket, a few cans of food and bottles of water. A note saying _we're headed east._

 

But she knows he'll never come for them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title taken from _Feels Like The End_ by Mikky Ekko.


	10. like empty promises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU where Carol was pregnant instead of Lori.

_Place was full of walkers. But it's a goldmine, so we pushed through_ , Glenn explains, stepping out of Maggie's embrace as he explains their delayed return from their run to Rick. Daryl stands by the cabin's door, arms crossed over his chest, a bag slung over his shoulder. Silent.

 

Carol barely listens as Glenn continues, sitting on one of the sleeping bags with her legs crossed under her. She is tired to her bones, and the stale stench of used air in the small cabin has her empty stomach revolting. Her fingers pick at the hem of her worn shirt, drumming absentmindedly on her stomach. Only the slightest of curves is visibly, pressing against the red fabric almost as if to remind her that it is there. Screaming to be noticed.

 

_Got'ya these._ Carol flinches when Daryl suddenly kneels down next to her, blood splatters all over his tired face, his jacket sleeves torn, a bruise forming around his right eye. When she looks down at his hands, she sighs.

 

Most days, she regrets their night at the CDC. She had been a little too giddy from the wine, feeling a little too free after Ed was underground. Daryl had been a little too forward, a little too drunk to be shy. Now, she hardly remembers much. Only that they somehow ended up on one of the couches, her shirt pushed over her breasts, his pants down to his ankles. They both took advantage of each other, she realizes now with bitterness in her heart. She can't even remember if it was any good. And even if it was, the price they are paying for it now is too high.

 

He'd been so angry when she told him about the baby, the day they lost the farm, just hours before their home was overrun. Angry at himself and her and the whole damn world.

 

These days, he is trying. In his own way. He always sets up his bedroll next to hers, every night. Curls himself around her silently when she shivers in the cold. Sneaks half his food into her bowl when he thinks she can't see. Or drops four different brands of prenatal vitamins into her lap, all of them covered in bloody fingerprint. _Didn't know which ones were any good._

 

Her eyes water with tears she can no longer shed, turning one of the boxes between her trembling fingers. Neither of them says a word about it. Not anymore.

 

She does not tell Daryl that she sees no point in taking them, either. Even if she lives long enough to carry this baby to term, how long would it live? Her little girl was torn apart and ripped from her. Carl is fading more and more with each day that passes. This is not a world for children, or for the innocent and the gentle.

 

Daryl blames himself, and she knows that. So, she'll take the pills. For his sake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title taken from _A Falling Through_ by Ray LaMontagne.


	11. and suddenly I see you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daryl and Carol share a quiet moment.

This is not the first time he is holding her hand. Not by far. Carol can not say exactly how many times before - it's not like she has the time to keep a list, and why would she bother? - but she can say for sure that it has never quite felt as extraordinary as it does now.

 

Helping her off the bike on a wobbly and slippery road to make sure she does not trip and fall.

 

Pulling her up the ladder of a chilly barn they sought shelter in for a few nights.

 

Grasping her hand almost by instinct after she only barely missed being taken down by a walker, asking over and over if she's _really_ okay.

 

Now, there is no reason that comes to mind. Quietly, they sit in front of the brick fireplace, flames casting shadows on the cabin's white washed walls. The others are deep asleep, shuffling around behind them, breathing heavily but evenly. Outside, she can see Glenn's silhouette moving through the window, keeping watch.

 

Her hand rests on the smooth leather of the couch between them, and Daryl's thumb is drawing circles into her palm, smooth but sloppy, almost absentmindedly. He is staring pointedly into the fire, orange lights flickering in his eyes, making them look almost waxen and surreal. His touch is soft despite the roughness of his calloused fingers, warm although their skin seems to have permanently soaked in the cold. Carol feels tired, her eyes fluttering like a butterfly's wing. How tempting it would be to simply lean into Daryl’s shoulder and close her eyes properly, allow for sleep to claim her for at least a few hours.

 

The pad of his thumb traces over her wrist, a small shiver running through her body. If he notices - and she would bet her ration of beans that he does, he notices _everything_ \- then it does not deter him from whatever bravery has taken hold of him.

 

Affection swells in her heart, nearing the breaking point. As it threatens to burst from her, her body is unsure how to channel it all. Her eyes suddenly feel watery, her vision of the fire blurring into an oil painting. Her fingers itch under his gentle caresses, eager to link their fingers and hold on to him tightly. Lips quiver with the faint but unmistakable urge to brush them over his cheek. With a sigh, she pushes all those thoughts away, leans her head back against the couch and looks up at the dancing shadows on the wooden ceiling.

 

 

 

When Glenn gently shakes her awake for her turn to take watch, Carol immediately notices the tight, warm grasp on her hand. One quick side-way glance and she can not help but smile. Daryl is fast asleep, face smoothed from all worry lines, breathing evenly. He is holding on to her hand, their fingers entwined like a tight knot.

 

It almost hurts to let go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title taken from _Venus_ by Sleeping At Last.


	12. tonight we'll leave our troubles in the dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daryl and Carol make the most of some rare time alone.

_Shit._

 

Daryl is completely still against her, the hand on her breast frozen, his face buried in the crook of her neck where he pants into the already dampened skin. _Fuck, 'm sorry_ , he mutters, forehead pressing against her shoulder. _'m sorry._

 

A gentle smile haunts her lips, disappointment lapping at her in small waves. She keeps those ripples hidden away, instead presses her lips against his temple where his hair is plastered to his skin. _It's all right_ , she reassures him, leaning back further against the windowsill he has her backed up against. Now that he is slack in her arms, he is hardly supporting her.

 

_Ain't all right_ , Daryl counters, pulling his face away enough for her to see the miserable shame in his eyes. _I ain't a damn teenager no more._ A short pause, his eyes flickering down to where her hand is still buried in his well worn jeans, wrapped around him. He is softening now, everything a little too warm and a little too sticky, but she does not want to add to the pile of things he seems to be unnecessarily embarrassed about. _I wanted ta..._

 

Even though his words trail off into silence, Carol understands, can see and feel and nearly touch his longing – the same that has taken a hold of her.

 

But before she can say anything else, footsteps holler down the corridor outside, and they both hurry to hide the evidence of their unexpected encounter, righting their ratty clothes. Daryl pushes past T-Dog with a grim expression and hunched shoulders as he steps into the room they share.

 

_Did I interrupt something?_

 

* * *

 

 

That night, Daryl makes up for it.

 

The second T-Dog slips out of the room to take over guard duty for Rick, Daryl shuffles closer to Carol on the large bed, wrapping his warm arms around her, gently kissing the back of her exposed neck until she stirs awake entirely.

 

He won't let her touch him now, and it frustrates her beyond belief. All she wants is to run her hands down his chest, curl her fingers around his arms, smooth kisses along his throat and collarbones, wrap her hand around him and listen to the stutter in his breath.

 

But to feel him touch _her_ is almost as good, if not a million times better. When he sucks a nipple into his mouth, runs rough and calloused fingers over her breasts and down her stomach, teases the insides of her thigh with the stubble of his beard, when she stifles her yelp with a pillow as she crashes over the edge with his tongue inside her, when he whimpers her name against her lips as he pushes inside of her slowly, inch by inch until she claws at him – that is when she finally, briefly, remembers what it is to feel _good_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title taken from _When The Wind Blows_ by Josh Healey.


	13. I can't decide if I let you save my life (or if I'll drown)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daryl is stubborn. But not as stubborn as Carol.

She used to love the sound of rain. A gentle hum or a deep drum against the roof over her head. Crystal clear teardrops running down windows like they did in old movies. A soothing sound that reminded her of the warmth and comfort found in a freshly made bed with a cup of steaming tea.

 

Now, it means wet, cold clothes, soaked bags, icy roads and wind that bites through layers so well worn and skin so chafed they are threatening to fall apart.

 

_He'll get into the car if it gets too much._ Glenn has to raise his voice as the rain hits the roof of their car with violent force. Outside, the road is beginning to be filled with water, the sky suddenly dark as night, bursting more and more.

 

Carol sighs in exasperation, barely able to make out Daryl's silhouette under a nearby tree through the window, the rain blurring everything beyond recognition. _You know he won't_ , she essentially shouts, taking a deep breath as she pushes open the car door and storms outside despite Maggie's efforts to hold her back. A million knifes pierce her skin all at once, and it does not matter that she runs at full speed towards the meager cover of the tree – she is soaked through.

 

_The hell ya doin' out 'ere?_ Daryl shouts, his bike and himself leaning against the tree, arms crossed over his chest. Carol comes to a slithering stop just a few feet away from him, the ground by the side of the road muddy.

 

_You're going to get sick_ , she yells, pointing overhead to the canopy of leafs that only provides little shelter. Daryl’s clothes are beginning to soak through, and she does not miss his shivering arms. _Get in the car._

 

He only huffs, vigorously shaking his head. _No way, I ain't squeezin' in there like a fuckin' sardine._

 

Rolling her eyes, she stomps forward, and Daryl’s eyes widen a little at her insistence. _Get in the damn car, Daryl!_ He stands still for a moment, and all she can hear is the ringing echo of the rain in her ears.

 

He marches past her with rolling eyes. _Yes ma'am._

 

* * *

 

 

An hour later, she is stuck between Daryl and the door on the backseat, shivering. But there is a strong arm wrapped around her waist where nobody can see, warmth seeping through her coat where his hand is splaying over the side of her stomach. And right there, for the first time in months , a flicker of joy burns inside of her at the sound of the rain hitting the roof over their heads.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title taken from _Arms_ by Christina Perri.


	14. the treasure in your eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daryl saves Carol's life.

_Carol!_

 

The walker is still sprawled on top of her, wearing damned striped pajamas - worn and ratty and stained with all sorts of body fluids. Half its face is torn off, blood long having crusted down the neck and into the collar of the shirt. One eyeball looks terrifyingly gauged where the bolt sticks out at an odd but effective angle.

 

Daryl crosses the room in two large strides, falling onto his knees at Carol's side. Her knife is laying uselessly on the ground a few feet away - out of reach from her outstretched arm. Lifelessly, her hand lies uncurled on the floorboards, facing the ceiling. Panic shoots through his veins like acid, burning him from the inside and damn near making it impossible to breathe.

 

Pushing the walker off her, it rolls to the ground limply. For one short moment, Daryl thinks she has been bit. There is so much blood soaking into her shirt, her chest and shoulders bathed in it. Fumbling wildly, he finds no wound, no scratches. Still, her eyes are closed, her head facing to the side.

 

_Carol, come on_ , he urges, hissing her name with a broken voice. The crossbow clatters noisily to the ground and instead he cups her cheek in his palm, shaking her head softly. She must have hit it pretty hard when she fell, the walker collapsing on top of her adding to the impact. _Wake up._

 

The soft sound that follows his plea is like the answer to a prayer.

 

_'m awake._ He can barely make out the words, too distracted by her blue eyes fluttering open. They seem a little glazed, reminding him of one of those awfully sweet hard candies Merle used to steal for him from the corner shop down the road from their shed of a house. He'd never really liked the taste, but it was the only way Merle seemed to know how to show affection. And at five years old, it was the best damn thing in the world.

 

A little disoriented, Carol leans into his touch, her forehead furrowed in pain. _My head_ , she whimpers. He can see some blood glistening in her silver hair now.

 

_I got ya_ , he reassures her quietly, his thumb brushing over her cheekbone. Loud footsteps thunder down the hall accompanied by worried voices. The others burst into the room with red cheeks and raised guns.

 

_Who cleared this fuckin' room?_ Daryl roars, ready to burst at the seam from all the anger boiling inside his guts. This room was supposed to be clear. Safe.

 

_Daryl_ , a small voice whispers, and when cool fingers curl around his wrist, he feels all his anger deflating instantly. _I'm all right._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title taken from _How'm I Supposed To Die_ by Civil Twilight.


	15. when all is crumbling (I steady your hand)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daryl tries to help when Carol is faced with the past.

Carol told him once how much she loves riding on the bike. How it makes her feel free, and how it somehow makes her forget the world around them for a little while when the wind laps at her skin and fills the silence of this new world.

 

He knows he is being a prick for not letting her ride with him more often, but he has his reasons. These days, it is just so damn cold, and the cars provide at least some shelter from the biting wind and near freezing rain. Safety is another issue. He has never really bothered with a helmet, but when she sits behind him unprotected, he becomes so fearful and distracted that he almost always slows the bike down too much to get anywhere. It's not like traffic is an issue anymore, but the roads turn icy so quickly, and even some of the smaller roads are on occasion blocked with abandoned cars.

 

And then there is the issue of _her_. Pressed up behind him, the insides of her thighs bracketing the outside of his, long arms wrapped around his torso, hands splayed over his chest (sometimes slipping down towards his stomach by accident), cheek resting between his shoulder blades. Nothing else has ever made him squirm so much, and it feels like ants are crawling through his guts, setting him on fire.

 

All these reasons amount to a tightening in his chest that never really goes away anymore. He'd explain to her why he always refuses when she asks to ride with him, but the mere idea of admitting all that has him running for the hills.

 

There are many other small tidbits he knows about her. Like the fact that she hates the highway.

 

Usually, they avoid it religiously, their encounter with the herd never forgotten. It's too cramped, too dangerous, and so they stick to small roads most of the time.

 

Today (the cold wind easing up after yesterday's storm and the blue sky peeking out from behind light gray clouds), all gathered around the large map on the hood of one of the cars, they have no other choice. The highway is the only option to get them to the food factory they hope has not been picked clean already. Daryl catches himself eying Carol, her eyes dazed and far away, arms wrapped around her stomach.

 

He usually sleeps close to her, and some nights, her little girl's name is a broken, pleading whisper on her quivering lips. _Sophia._ Her pale face filling Carol's dreams and nightmares.

 

There is nothing he can really do to erase the memories of that day. But he can damn well try. As the others climb back into the cars, he catches up with her, brushing his hand against her elbow awkwardly. _Wanna ride with me?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title taken from _Never Say Never_ by The Fray.


	16. we won't have to be scared

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carol and Daryl struggle to let go.

_Her fever's getting worse._ Hershel sounds defeated, his eyes empty, face ashen. _She shouldn't be alone now, someone has to..._ Nobody needs to hear the words, but they all understand. Standing in a circle, all their expressions speak of the same pain. It makes for a sorry sight, and Beth's quiet sobs and Glenn's heavy sigh only make the moment more unbearable.

 

_Daryl, you should go_ , Lori says quietly, her eyes brimming with tears. She cradles the swell of her stomach, new life growing when another is slowly dimming in the other room. _Be with her._

 

Red heat shoots through his veins. _Hell no_ , he hisses through gritted teeth, shaking his head stiffly. _She don't need me in there, 's my fuckin' fault_. His body is tense, every muscle coiled and ready to snap, ready to tear him apart from the inside.

 

_Daryl, it wasn't your fault_ , Glenn begins to reassure him, reaching out to rest a cold hand on his shoulder. _She needs y-_

 

He swats the hand away, turning on his heels. _She don't need nothin' no more!_ His words holler through the room, followed by the slamming of the front door. Outside, he welcomes the biting cold like an old friend.

 

* * *

 

 

The door falls quietly into place.

 

His steps echo in the silent room, curtains drawn, flames licking the bricks in the small fireplace. It smells of charred wood and disinfectant, a sharp scent that burns in Daryl's throat with each inhale.

 

_Hey, Pookie._ Her voice is small and fragile, and his chest constricts when he looks at her, curled beneath a thick blanket, face sickly pale. Cold sweat is pearling on her skin, shimmering in the light of the fire.

 

_Stop_ , he sighs as he sinks down on the chair by her bed. There is no teasing to the word. Now, it's nothing but a desperate plea.

 

A whisper of a smile tugs at her lips. _No._

 

The minutes pass, and then a trembling hand finds his arm.

 

_Don't let me turn_ , she begs, fear flashing in her blue eyes. Life is draining from them already, making them seem like milky glass orbs.

 

_Course not._

 

Her breathing stutters, and she seems to hesitate to speak whatever is on her mind. _Can you... Can you lay down here with me?_

 

Daryl feels his brows furrow as her fingers curl into his arm. _What?_

 

_I'm cold._ Just a hoarse whisper.

 

He kicks off his shoes. Crawls into the warm bed. Pulls Carol into his side. Feels her head on his chest and her fingers on his stomach. Listens to her breathing. Runs his fingers through her hair and brushes them over her cheeks.

 

_I'm scared._ Her voice breaks like glass in the frost.

 

Leaning down, he presses his lips to the top of her head, against silver tendrils of hair. Cradling her head, holding her against him for as long as she still breathes. _Y'ain't gotta be afraid no more._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title taken from _Letters From The Sky_ by Civil Twilight.
> 
> I am very sorry. Also, there sadly won't be a drabble tomorrow. I'm not behind on writing, don't worry (in fact, I have the next eight drabbles ready to go). But I'm visiting my parents and won't have a chance to upload.
> 
>  
> 
> You'll get two drabbles on Saturday ;)


	17. believe in more than you and me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU where Sophia is still alive.

This is a luxury they can rarely afford. Not when they are all huddled in the few cars they have, not when they are sleeping on the cold hard ground, all circled around a too-small fire.

 

But tonight they have found a house, standing abandoned and lonely on a field with a view towards all directions. Food stocked in the cupboards, walls that hold in some warmth. It is rare that they find places like these, and they cherish them all the more for however long they are given the chance.

 

Sophia is sitting crossed-legged on a cushion between Carol's legs where she is perched on the edge of the bed. Her hand moves steadily as she brushes through her daughter's tangled hair, careful to tend to all knots without causing any pain. They indulge in these brief moments of peace, treat them like a sacred, weak little thing.

 

The door to the small bedroom opens slowly, and Daryl peaks his head in, hair damp and face scrubbed clean. It makes him look younger, less rough, and the smile that haunts his lips is a rare treat. _Carl's lookin' for ya._

 

Sophia turns her head, her face so familiar to Carol that she could paint it blind. _Go_ , she says calmly, finishing the stroke of the brush and running her fingers through the now soft hair. _But no shooting practice._ Sophia nods at the veiled scolding, the incident last week still somewhat unresolved.

 

_Kid's got better aim than you_ , Daryl chuckles, grinning at a beaming Sophia when she walks past him towards the door. _But that ain't much of an achievement._

 

_Hey!_ Carol pouts a little, and Sophia giggles when she closes the bedroom door behind her. Daryl's lips are soft against Carol's when he leans down to kiss her, pressing his palms into the mattress on each side of her hips.

 

_I don't like it when she has a gun_ , Carol mutters against his lips, her words more somber now.

 

With a sigh, Daryl pulls away, sitting down next to her. The mattress dips a little under his weight. _I know._ A small shiver runs through her when he curls his fingers around hers. _She's still afraid of 'em, though._ She supposes that's a good thing, but the image of her sweet little girl with a gun in her trembling hands...

 

_She's still afraid_ , she whispers, leaning her head against Daryl's shoulder. A strong arm wraps around her waist, lips pressing a kiss to the crown of her head. _We're all afraid._

 

She remembers the day Daryl came walking towards the farm with Sophia in his arms, nearly starved and shivering like a leaf. The fear that burned in her eyes that day has never really faded.

 

_Ain't gonna let anything happen ta her._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title taken from _Keep Breathing_ by Ingrid Michaelson.
> 
> A little late, but I hope it was worth the wait. The second drabble will be up in a bit. Thank you all so much for the support ❤


	18. my only sunshine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spring changes things.

When spring begins to roll in – slowly, piece by piece, one small shift at a time – Daryl begins to notice small changes.

 

She smiles more. Of course, there aren't all that many reasons to smile these days, the mood between all of them usually somber and bleak. But every now and then, her lips curl up towards the pale blue sky, and her face lights up like fireworks on the Fourth of July. Her nose wrinkles when she does, the hint of dimples on her pale cheeks creating something wholesome.

 

She starts wearing different clothes. All winter, she'd been wrapped in too-big coats and roughly knitted cardigans, baggy cargo pants and thick scarfs, worn gloves and sweaters that grew thinner and thinner by the day. Now, she picks more vibrant colors. Reds and dusty pinks, oranges as soft as the sunset. Her chest and arms are freed to bask in the sunlight, long and pale and freckled.

 

Her complexion begins to change. She no longer looks ashen and tired, her skin starting to glow when the first flowers begin to spurt from the ground. The freckles that cover her skin like an intricate star constellation are beginning to darken, and when he is sitting close enough, Daryl can almost count them.

 

If she ever catches him staring like a creep, then she is saying nothing about it. And damn, does he stare often. Maybe it's because there's nothing else left in the world worth looking at, or perhaps it's something else entirely. Something to do with how his stomach flutters ever time she smiles. Or how his groin seems to tighten a little sometimes when she wears a shirt that dips just a little too low. Or maybe it's something to do with how his fingers itch to reach out and cup her face in his palm, feel if her skin is as soft as it looks, dewy like leafs of grass on a damp, cool morning.

 

What Daryl does not notice, despite all his staring, is that Carol is looking, too.

 

When she sees something that makes her smile, her head almost instantly turns to find him in the room. An instinct, a craving to see if he is smiling, too. When she picks new clothes from some dead woman's closet or some abandoned rack in a lonely store – clothes Ed would never have allowed her to wear – she picks the ones that are red like the cloth in his back pocket or orange like the stripes on his poncho. Sometimes, she tugs down her shirt just a little when Daryl is around, just to see the nervous flush on his cheeks.

 

He does not know that she watches his chest rise and fall at night sometimes, sleeping. Just for a few seconds to make sure he is still here.

 

He has no clue that the reason for most of her smiles is him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title taken from _You Are My Sunshine_ \- whatever version of it you prefer ;)


	19. our souls they blend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daryl is powerless against Carol.

He just wanted to spend some time alone with her. That's the only reason he asked her to come with him to find some more firewood. Really.

 

But they have not been walking in the dense woods for more than five minutes when Carol starts to give him this look. The look she _knows_ makes his heart pound and all his blood rush south where he really doesn't need it. Blue eyes full of mischief and want.

 

Not a minute later he has her pinned against a tree, her clever hand undoing the buckle of his belt and pushing his ratty jeans down over his narrow hips. Their lips clash with so much fire that he's sure there will be bruises later, but neither of them seems to give a damn.

 

Her own pants pool around one ankle and he pushes inside of her so quickly that he's afraid for a second that he hurt her. But she keens in his arms, hands gripping him tightly around the shoulders, and he slides in so smoothly that all doubt that she isn't ready is wiped cleanly away.

 

It's stupid, he thinks as he pounds into her, no finesse or tenderness to any of it. And it's dangerous. Only a fragment of their attention is focused on the woods around them, and any walker would take them by surprise now. Not to mention that when he sucks the exposed skin of her collarbone between his lips (thanking whatever God there is that the frost is over and sunlight begins to carry warmth again) Carol moans his name so loudly that everybody at camp must have heard.

 

They have all seen each other in various states of undress at this point, but the last thing Daryl needs right now is for Rick to come looking for them and find him with his pants down and buried so deeply inside Carol that she barely balances herself on the tip of her toes.

 

He muffles her yelp with his lips, a kiss as deep as his thrusts that have her sliding up the rough bark of the tree more and more. Blunt fingernails scrape up the base of his skull, and a groan rumbles deep in his chest in response. He'll never get used to what it's like to be inside her (warm and tight and wet and his name on her lips sounding like a prayer, like he's actually _worth_ a damn thing).

 

One of his hands sneaks between them (calloused and rough but she never seems to mind), and not a minute later she's panting into the crook of his neck. _Daryl. God, please, I- oh!_ Her muscles flutter around him, and then he can't keep quiet anymore either, thrusting up one last time with a deep groan that sounds like her name.

 

She holds him close after, finds his lips in a softer kiss as she exhales on a heavy sigh.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title taken from _Can't Pretend_ by Tom Odell.


	20. when the rest of the world is asleep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carol finds a way to celebrate Christmas.

_Hell's that?_ Daryl asks, pointing at the weirdly shaped package in Carol's arms. It looks like nothing but a bunch of old newspapers, the thin pages beginning to turn yellow.

 

She smiles, coming to a halt next to him. Her boots crunch against the thin layer of icy snow, and steam fogs his vision from both of their breathing. There's not a cloud in the sky, the full moon shedding enough light not to strain his eyes as he keeps watch. But it's bloody cold, chilling his bones, making him shiver.

 

_I talked to Hershel the other day_ , Carol begins to explain, looking at some point in the distance where a neat row of picket-fence houses lines the abandoned street. _He says it's Christmas tomorrow._

 

Daryl only snorts at that, shifting the weight of the crossbow on his sore shoulder. _Merry fuckin' Christmas to us._ For a brief moment, she joins in, laughing so quietly that it's only a huff in the dead of night. Then, she falls silent, and from the corner of his eyes he can see the somber expression that has claimed her pale face – nearly glowing in the moonlight.

 

_We're still here._ Her words are fragile, a broken whisper, full of fear. She does not want to jinx them, he supposes.

 

_Yeah._

 

He watches her fiddle with the package for a moment longer. It's pressed into her chest, cradled in her arms almost like an infant, and he can't make out what it might be. _I know you don't like wearing the jacket_ , Carol eventually breaks the silence. She's right. He hates the feel of the leather against his arms, the way it spans over his shoulders and limits his range of motion. But with frost biting at the very air they breathe, he has no other choice. _So..._ She trails off, and if he were only a little less afraid he'd accept that she's blushing. _I made you this._

 

She shoves the package into his chest, taking him a little by surprise. He catches it before it can fall to the wet ground, the crinkling sound of it against his fingers filling the air. _Merry Christmas, Daryl_. Before he can stumble backwards or gather enough dignity to run, she's right in his space, smelling of cinnamon (how can she possibly smell this good?) and her soft lips press lightly against his cheek. His heart pounds in his chest and he freezes, eyes wide.

 

It lasts not a second before she steps away, a tender smile curling her lips as she walks back to the house. He stares down at his hands.

 

A red ribbon is tied around the package, he notices, wondering where on Earth she could've found that. Then again, knowing how resourceful she is, she probably made it out of one of her own shirts. Fingers stiff from the cold, he tears away the paper, revealing a messy pattern of black and orange and red, palm smoothing over coarse but thick fabric.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title taken from _Calling Me_ by Ava Leigh.


	21. you get the least but you give up the most

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carol keeps an injury to herself. Until she can't anymore.

Just a cut. Carol tells herself that as she runs her fingers along the gash in her calf, weeping thick blood. There's no point in telling the others – especially now when Carl's cough has gotten so bad that she can hear the mucus in his lungs, and when Lori's been bleeding lightly for days, weak and so utterly tired.

 

So, Carol cleans the wound and dresses it as well as she can.

 

* * *

 

It doesn't take half a day before Daryl asks what's wrong with her leg. She wonders if there's anything he doesn't notice, but then she stops herself. There's _so much_ he's blind to.

 

She waves her hand and tells him she took a wrong step. His eyes bore so deeply into her that she nearly cowers, avoiding the blue as she aids Lori back into the car.

 

* * *

 

The pain gets worse as the days pass by. The next time she peels the bandage off her leg, Carol feels her stomach drop at he sight of her calf, swollen, red and leaking fluid. She cleans it, wincing, and grinds her teeth in pain as she walks back into the trashed store where they are huddled together.

 

* * *

 

The fever sets in overnight. She struggles to pull herself from the drowsiness of sleep. Rubs her eyes at the pounding in her skull. Shivers at the pain that prickles like needles under her skin. Bites back tears when every step has the wound pulsing in tune to her heartbeat.

 

Whenever someone does ask if she's okay, she blames a headache. Hunger. Fatigue.

 

Daryl has stopped asking, but she can feel his eyes on her wherever she goes.

 

* * *

 

She can't tell them now. Daryl would go for a run in a heartbeat, and the storm outside isn't showing any signs of letting up. She won't give him a reason to risk his life.

 

* * *

 

_Ya shivering_ , he states plainly as he lays down next to where she has curled herself into a ball. Eyes closed, tears brimming.

 

_I'm cold_ , she lies, barely recognizing her own voice. He does feel cold by her side (winter soaking into all their bones), but it does nothing to cool the fire in her veins.

 

_Y'ain't lookin' like ya cold._ Sweat is pearling on her skin. She's too tired to even flinch when a cold, calloused hand comes to rest on her forehead. _Jesus, Carol._

 

Vaguely, she hears terror and shuffling and many hands pulling her this way and that. And then all goes black.

 

* * *

 

Someone whispering her name.

 

Pain. Fierce and merciless.

 

Something bitter on her tongue. She's parched.

 

* * *

 

_Hey._ A gentle, hoarse whisper. A warm hand on her cheek. _Easy._

 

Her eyes flutter open, nearly blinded by the dim light of a fire. Everything feels warm and soft, and she slowly realizes that her head is propped up on a lap, blankets tucked around her, smelling oddly fresh.

 

_Scared the shit outta me._

 

A smile on Daryl's lips.

 

She's convinced it's still a fever dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title taken from _Nearly Morning (Demo)_ by Luke Sital-Singh.


	22. seen no joy in this world

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The moment Carol and Daryl realize that Carol has nine lives.

It's easy to forget that Carl is still a child. Innocence is washed away day by day until nothing but his size and the pitch of his voice distinguishes him from the men in their group.

 

When Carol sees him with a gun in his hand and a cold, empty expression on his face, she wonders how this life – running, killing, going hungry, scared and cold – would have changed her little girl. Some nights, when she is too cold to sleep and her stomach rumbles, she allows herself to feel some gratefulness that Sophia never had to endure this.

 

Still, Carl is a child. No matter how quickly he's had to grow up. So, when they take shelter in a cottage by the side of the woods, and he finds two half-starved kittens in the cellar, nobody is surprised to see his eyes light up. The bigger one has a nasty wound on its back, worms eating away the flesh. It dies not an hour after Carl carries them into the living room. He digs a small grave, gives it a name. Snowflake.

 

The other, however, wants to live. Copper and white fur that is silky soft to the touch. Prickly claws that hide in tiny paws. A cold, wet nose that is curious and exploring. Delicate whiskers that tickle.

 

* * *

 

Carol cranes her neck, feeling the disks in her spine pop as she lowers herself onto the couch. Daryl is lying on the floor, arms crossed behind his head, eyes shut. The even rise and fall of his chest proves that he is asleep.

 

She smiles at the furry bundle that has made itself comfortable on his stomach. Slowly, she runs her hand over its back, feeling the ridges of the thin spine. It earns her a soft purr, and Daryl stirs awake. His eyes are sleepy when he opens them, looking down at the cat and Carol's hand and then up at her face with a blush tinting his cheeks.

 

_She likes you_ , Carol says quietly.

 

Daryl grumbles, shifting his weight slightly. _Hate cats_ , he mutters.

 

_Why? They're clever. Stealthy._ She grins at his annoyed expression, biting her tongue when he makes absolutely no move to push the sleeping kitten off his stomach.

 

_Stubborn as fuck. Always lookin' like they wanna kill ya._ That earns him a laugh, and two green eyes open curiously, looking up at her.

 

_They've got nine lives_ , Carol continues, nudging her index finger against a tiny ear. _We could all use some of those._

 

Daryl raises a calloused hand from the ground, cradling the kitten as he sits up. He holds it gently in the palm of his hand, keeping it safe. _Pretty sure ya got nine lives already._

 

He's right, she thinks, realizing what a miracle it is that she's still here. Still breathing.

 

_Ya know we can't keep her, right?_ Daryl sounds surprisingly bitter, and all she can do is nod and sigh.

 

Nothing ever lasts anymore. It never has.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title taken from _Sparrow And The Wolf_ by James Vincent McMorrow.
> 
> Just a note that this is _not_ my actual headcanon for the origin of the _nine lives_ thing, but I wanted kittens and this was the perfect opportunity.


	23. I'll die here as your phantom lover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just before death, Daryl struggles with his regrets. _companion piece to 'where does time go from here?'_

In his mind, he's found a thousand ways to tell her how he feels. How she makes him _want_ to smile for the first time in his life. How she makes his stomach twist. How the thought of her in pain, hungry or scared feels worse than his own aches and hunger and fears ever could. How he can not remember ever waking up in a world without her in his life. He has told her her all this, in the deep places of his imagination where bravery comes easily and the truth is never repaid with pain.

 

_I care 'bout ya. Ya the most important person in my life. Y'all I ever think about. I love ya._ Some crap like that.

 

In his mind, he's kissed her at least a hundred times. That time she smiled at him after he returned from a hunt with five squirrels slung over his shoulder. He could have pressed his lips to the curve of her smile. That time she brushed her hand over his cheek, sending shivers down the length of his spine. He could have mirrored her and pulled her face into his. That time she laughed at something stupid he said. He could have swallowed the sound with his lips. That time she took his hand when they were on watch, not saying a single word. He could have brushed his lips over hers instead of turning stiff like a board.

 

The taste of canned peaches on her tongue. Her lips chapped from the harsh cold, but oh so warm. The softness of a smile. The way her lips move when she speaks. The color of the dawn.

 

In his mind, he's made love to her a dozen times. Properly made love. He's fucked women before, faceless bodies against a bathroom stall or in the back of a truck. But not Carol.

 

When she slept against him, his arms wrapped around her and her back pressed flush against his chest. He wished the others were gone so that he could press his lips to the back of her neck. Figure out if it would stir the same sort of sigh as her hands over a crackling fire or a bite of food after long days of starvation.

 

Her hair tickling his nose, curly and silver. Her hands steering his over the swell of her breasts, down the flat of her stomach and into the warmth between her legs. Long legs tangled with his, eyes wide and open like the sky. He'd push into her slowly, savor it. Drink in every sound.

 

He should have done it all. Should have said it all. Instead, he's silent as he stares up at the night sky, feeling his blood soaking into the cold, hard ground beneath him. He clutches the loaded gun to his chest, wishing he could have at least told her to keep going. To hold on.

 

All he did say was _see ya later_.

 

And goddamn did he _see_ her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title taken from _I Never Learn_ by Lykke Li.
> 
> With this drabble, we head into the last week of this series *sigh*


	24. when the light has grown too dim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU where Carol and Daryl were married before the world ended.

She remembers the day they first met. When she took Ed's car to a garage two towns away with a scratch that had not been her fault (but would earn her punishment all the same). She remembers how Daryl, whom she'd never seen before, seemed to look at her and _understand_.

 

He fixed it for free. In less than two hours. Sending her off with a look in his blue eyes that made her feel... good.

 

Now, he hardly looks at her anymore. Stolen glances when they sit across from each other with the fire between them. When she wakes up by his side on the cold ground and he turns away with a heavy sigh. Carol understand why. All he sees when he looks at her is Sophia. It's all she ever sees in him these days.

 

 

 

She remembers the first time she kissed him. Chaste, almost shy. Her heart pounding in her ribcage. The sound of Ed's car pulling up in the driveway driving them apart.

 

Now, she can not remember the last time she felt his lips brush against hers. The flutter it used to stir in her belly has long simmered down to nothing but ashes.

 

 

 

She remembers his broad smile when she stood on his doorstep with a bag in her hand. _I broke up with Ed._ How his arms swept her up and knocked the air out of her lungs.

 

He never smiles anymore, and neither does she. (Sophia used to smile all the time, cheeks tinted pink with the elation of it.)

 

 

 

She remembers the first time they made love, how it felt to be touched and cherished without fear. How he kissed every inch of her freckled skin, sunk into her with a sigh that carried the sound of her name.

 

These days, their touches are different. Accidental when they walk past each other in another house that is their shelter for the night. Or deliberate to tend to small wounds, to hand him a bowl of bland beans. Some days, she wants to reach across the rift that has opened between them and take his hand. Only some days.

 

 

 

She remembers their wedding day. Plain white dress, a bouquet of pale flowers, no guests, only them. The feeling of finally doing something _right_.

 

At night when sleep evades her (because it is too cold, because her stomach is empty, because her limbs ache), she twirls her wedding band round and round. _I do. I do. I do._ Does she?

 

 

 

She remembers the day Sophia was born. How Daryl cradled her in his strong arms, eyes glistening with tears.

 

She'll never forget the day their baby died, blood crusting on her shirt, cheeks hollow, a bullet shooting through her brain.

 

 

 

_I love you_ , she whispers one night, reaching out to rest her palm between Daryl's shoulder blades. He does not stir, and he's either asleep or pretending to be.

 

She nearly pulls her hand away. Then she hears it. _Yeah, I know._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title taken from _Homage To The Suffering_ by Matthew Perryman Jones.


	25. I was broken for a long time (but it's over now)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The closer Daryl and Carol grow, the more he dwells on _might have beens_.

Daryl doesn't usually dwell on _what ifs_. There's no point to it. Shit's just the way it is. Thinking about how different it could be ain't changing a damn thing.

 

But in these moments – too rare and still brand new, uncharted, making his nerves flutter and cheeks burn – he sometimes catches himself wondering.

 

Carol's asleep, her bare chest rising and falling evenly. Tendrils of silver hair tickle his arm where her head rests, cheekbone pressing into his shoulder. Delicate fingers are splayed across his chest, feather light. The warm dampness of her breath tickles his side, and the smell of her infiltrates his mind. A sweet mixture of harsh soap, fresh sweat and something that reminds him of late spring days when the world is most colorful. Long legs tangle with his, her belly pressed flush against his ribcage. A sharp hipbone falls into place against his groin.

 

Next door, Hershel snores, and he can hear the steady fall of footsteps outside where Maggie and T-Dog are on watch. Staring up at the ceiling, the moonlight casting obscure shadows, Daryl allows his mind to drift.

 

He should be miserable. Everyone else is, smiles rare and thin-lipped, the sound of laughter like a distant memory from days gone by.

 

Thing is: he ain't miserable at all.

 

Sure, not all was shit _before_. He misses Merle against his better judgment. And fuck it if he wouldn't sell his soul for a hot shower, a cold beer and a greasy, fat burger. The comforts of those times – taken for granted too often – haunt him on cold nights when his stomach churns.

 

But how can he be miserable when Carol trusts him enough to fall asleep in his arms, bared to his gaze? When an hour ago, she'd kissed him so deeply that he felt she might crawl under his marred skin. He ain't got a reason to be grim when the memories of her curved lips against the crook of his neck are still crisp. Or when he knows she'll rest her cheek against his back on the bike tomorrow when they inevitably leave.

 

For everyone else, the world has fallen apart. In the dead of night with Carol in his arms, Daryl’s world finally falls into place.

 

The _what ifs_ come uninvited, though.

 

What if he'd met her _before_?

 

Would she even have looked at him twice?

 

Would she have allowed him to touch her the way she does now (rough palms against freckled planes of quivering ivory and dusty rose pink?)

 

Would she have changed him into the kind of man who wanted crap like her in a white dress and babies cradled against her breasts?

 

Would she have made him want to go back to school and hold on to a job for the first time in his life?

 

He pushes the thoughts away, their taste bitter on his tongue. Shit's the way it is. Ain't no point in _what ifs_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title taken from _I Was Broken_ by Marcus Foster.


	26. you turn me into somebody loved

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When it happens, it's not quite like he imagined it.

It's not like he's never thought about it. Hell, thinking about Carol is the only thing that keeps him warm when he's sitting on the icy, hard ground, staring into the night, waiting for the inevitable. He's thought and thought and thought about it. But when it really happens... Well, his mind never could have done it justice.

 

He never cared much about sex before the world ended. Lost his virginity piss drunk to one of Merle's regulars, some girl whose name he's forgotten. She might've been a few years older, taking him without fight but also without any real desire against the back of his old man's tool shed. It was never much different after that. Quick and dirty and leaving him feeling empty. Echoing as shame.

 

But with Carol, he can feel a void filling inside of him that has been dark and lonely all his life.

 

He's imagined it a million ways – this new world offering too much time for thoughts to roam. The real deal is all of his wildest dreams and deepest desires mingled with too much he never would have dared to hope.

 

He imagined hitching her up against a tree with her long legs wrapped around his waist, sinking into her over and over. When she does wrap her legs around him his pants are in the way, shoved down towards his knees, the cement ground cold against his ass.

 

He imagined feeling her breasts flush against his chest as she rides him in the backseat of one of the cars. Instead, her breasts are hidden from his view when she does sink down and takes all of him in one quick, breathtaking slide.

 

He imagined watching her beneath him, her breathing raspy and the sound of his name on her parted lips as he loved her under the stars. When she does pant on top of him it's not just his name she whispers but three words he never thought anyone would ever say to him.

 

He imagined making love to her in a bed with clean sheets and a warm hearth, the fire casting shadows on her pale skin. Instead, the moldy basement is lit only by a milky oil lamp, embracing them both in darkness.

 

He imagined it in so many ways. When it does happen (when she suddenly kisses him mid-sentence, when he blurts her name and clever fingers push and pull fabric out of the way, when she mouths his name against his collarbone and wraps her hand around him where he is painfully hard, when he runs his fingers through her wetness and swallows her cries when he stretches her, when she quivers above him and falls apart, when he finishes inside her and forgets all about everything he's ever disliked in his life) his mind goes silent and he finally feels something that he believes might be peace.

 

Nameless faces that haunted him for years melt away, and all that remains is Carol.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title taken from _Somebody Loved_ by The Weepies.


	27. by only a flicker (we cling to this life)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Spaghetti Tuesday.

_The hell is everyone losin' their shit over?_ Daryl's hoarse grunt fills the small space, pulling Carol out of her daydream. She'd been humming a song (the name forgotten, some cheesy country tune her grandmother used to listen to on vinyl when she was younger) and swaying her hips to the rhythm she set.

 

She smiles broadly at Daryl, arms crossed over his chest and leaning against the white door frame. The expression on his face speaking of mild confusion, brows pulled up high. Mud coats his boots and leaves a trail on the sandy colored tiles, and blood is beginning to crust on his pants and sleeves.

 

_It's spaghetti Tuesday_ , Carol explains matter-of-factly, stirring the red, bubbling sauce that is simmering on the stove (a working stove, and that still has her heart fluttering in excitement). Its scent is bursting with flavor, her empty stomach practically screaming, desperate for it. The pasta is beginning to swell and fill the other pot, her excitement lightening her steps and pulling the near constant cloak of misery from her mind.

 

_Spaghetti what?_ Daryl takes a step into the kitchen, and she notices the heaviness to his step and the haunch of his shoulders. He returned from his hunt unsuccessful. Any other day, that would have meant empty stomachs and a sleepless night. But not today.

 

_This place is so well stocked, there was so much pasta and canned tomatoes - Hershel declared Spaghetti Tuesday._ She beams at him as she explains, hoping to wipe some grimness off his face. She can't recall the last time she saw him smile.

 

_We ain't got a clue what day it is_ , he grunts, but something sparkles in his blue eyes that makes it all worthwhile.

 

_Which means we can have Spaghetti Tuesday any day of the week._ Carol nearly giggles as she catches a few precious drops of sauce on a spoon and holds it out towards Daryl. _Have a taste._

 

He scoffs, his features softening. _Ain't nobody felt like they needed ta help ya?_ His concern for her has her heartstrings form an achingly sweet melody.

 

_I'm fine_ , she reassures him, urging the spoon to his lips. He licks the sauce off the silver, tiny speckles of dried herbs catching on the pink of his lips. It's a mesmerizing sight that draws her eyes in. His approving hum and blue eyes fluttering shut stir the pride in her chest.

 

_Good?_ she asks, almost nervously anticipating his reaction. Something inside her needs him to like it, to feed him and keep him warm at night and-

 

_Better._ Daryl interrupts her thoughts, taking the spoon from her hand. For a moment, her heart ceases to beat when he steps into her space. The scent of him overwhelms that of the sauce - earthy and damp and musky.

 

Her eyes fix on his lips, slightly parted. But then he leans past her, sticking the spoon back into the pot.

 

_Hey!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title taken from _Bad Blood_ by Sleeping At Last.


	28. don't listen when I scream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daryl can't let himself mourn. Carol understands.

_Carol?_ Her name is spoken hoarsely. Delicately. The question behind it trembling in the cold air. Her stiff fingers curl around her shins, feeling the ever decreasing flesh of her calves beneath her sagging cargo pants.

 

Daryl slips into the room quietly, never making any sound. Like a lithe animal he passes through the world unnoticed, a skill drilled into him early in life out of necessity. If nobody notices you, nobody can hurt you. She has mastered the same skill during the torturous years of her marriage, has learned to disappear until only a neatly trimmed shell remains.

 

But Daryl's shell is so different from hers. Rugged, shaken, scarred and always soiled. As he slowly walks over to her, something folded against his chest, none of that remains. He looks raw, eyes avoiding hers, something lingering in the pools of blue that reminds her of an old and familiar mutual friend. Fear.

 

He's been gone all day, hunting through the frost covered woods in vain hope of food. Upon his return, he'd been even more quiet than usual, his obvious guilt for not bringing back anything edible like a heavy burden on his shoulders. Outside, the sun has long disappeared, cloaking their quiet new world in darkness.

 

_Are you okay?_ Carols asks carefully, scooting over on the bed to make room for him. The mattress dips under his weight, and her heart feels sorrowful.

 

Up close, she recognizes the familiar leather bunched against his chest. The vest. _Wanted ta ask if ya could..._ His voice trails off into unreadable silence. _Messed it up._

 

Her fingers feather over the tear in the wing when she takes it from him and she answers his largely unspoken question. _Of course I can._

 

He smiles a shy smile, the kind she treasures like nothing else these days. They sit in silence for a while, waiting for nothing and expecting nothing more than that. This world holds no more hopes or promises.

 

_Was the last birthday gift I got from Merle_ , he mutters after a while, toeing at a loose and dusty floorboard with his boot.

 

A gentle smile curls Carol's lips, one he can not see. She likes to believe it still matters. _Last year?_

 

_Nah,_ Daryl denies, scratching his chin nervously. _Couple years before. Merle was shit 'bout that stuff. Usually, he was locked up or so stoned he didn't even know what year it was._ There is grief in his voice, thick and tired. Grief he tries so hard to always keep locked away. _An' even when be wasn't he just forgot._

 

An apology weighs on her tongue, but she swallows the words instinct tells her to speak. They mean nothing, weigh no more than a feather. Instead, she spreads the vest over her lap, brushes her hand ever so slightly against Daryl’s wrist. _I'll fix it._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title taken from _Goodbye_ by Apparat.


	29. now all your love is wasted?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daryl and Carol have a fight.

_I was worried about you, Daryl,_ Carol tries to explain herself, sounding exasperated. She does not understand why he is looking at her with such spite, why his words press through gritted teeth, sour as coughed up bile. He hasn't been like this around her in months, not since those crumbling days on the farm, the days after...

 

_Yeah, like ya give a shit 'bout me._ The scoff that accompanies his words has her straighten her shoulders, suddenly feeling like someone dumped a bucket of icy water over her. It's a blow she never saw coming.

 

_Excuse me?_ With wide eyes she stares at him, standing tall and grim and with every muscle flexed almost threateningly. _How can you-_ Even just the idea that he doesn't understand what he means to her has her panicking. _I care about you,_ she says with a softer voice, the syllables falling apart in her mouth, breaking into a hoarse plead.

 

_If ya really cared so much, ya wouldn't be freezin' ya ass off every night an' givin' all ya food away._ She flinches when he throws his arm into the air, her trust in him suddenly wavering. Nervously, she checks their surrounding, the small clearing bathed in the afternoon sunlight. Even if no walkers heard his outburst, the others just a few yards away at their meager camp surely did.

 

His words ring in her ears, and months of ignoring his observant stares and disapproving looks catch up with them. Giving Lori rations of her food, sleeping furthest from the fire to keep the others warm, offering Beth some of her clothes. The list goes on and on. _How does that have anything to do with how I feel about you?_

 

Daryl grunts then, shaking his head. _Just forget it._ He turns on his heels, marching away from her with determined steps. The sight stirs more panic inside of her, and she stumbles a few feet forwards, her voice catching in her throat.

 

_No, don't go._ He freezes, but does not turn. _I don't understand you, Daryl._ Usually, she can read him like an open book, sees the small shifts and delicate changes, knows exactly what it means when she gives a certain look or moves a certain way. But now, she comes up empty – and it frightens her more than anything they have faced over the last months.

 

_Yeah, ya don't know shit,_ he mutters, his words like a dagger to her heart. _I'm heading out, see if I can find some food._

 

_Daryl-_

 

_Just leave it_ , he interrupts her, voice suddenly less angry. Instead, he sounds defeated as he walks away with brisk steps, leaving her behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title taken from _Skinny Love_ by Bon Iver.


	30. take this sinking boat and point it home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A sweet moment on a lonely porch. 
> 
> This is an alternate version of chapter one, **in the winter night sky**.

_Or you could keep me warm._ The familiar teasing edge of her voice has him squirming in his seat, and Daryl is grateful for the pale darkness of the moonlight when he can feel flames beneath his cheeks. His well-practiced _stop_ comes almost reflectively as he stares at the wild hedges surrounding the driveway.

 

This place looks haunted, he thinks for himself, all of its former glory fallen to ruin. It's hard to imagine how different it might have been once – clean and proper and so far out of his reach. A place for rich folks to bask in their wealth and pride.

 

Carol's words still echo in his mind, and despite the usual teasing, he can't help but wonder what it'd be like if he took her up on that offer. In a world where he wasn't such a bloody coward, he'd wrap his arms around her and pull her close, feel the softness of her against all his rough edges, breathe in her scent. But even the mere idea has his nerves fluttering like the brittle little bastards that they are.

 

Then, suddenly, Carol shifts by his side, her arm brushing against his shoulder. He tenses briefly, ready to bolt, but then forces himself to take a deep breath. He goes slack, watching the mist of his breath dissolving in the cold air.

 

A sweet, delicate sigh fills the silence, and he turns his head almost instinctively. His eyes widen when he looks into her big blue eyes, mere inches away from his face. There is a hopeful surprise lightening up her face, and her skin nearly glows in the light of the moon.

 

Something inside him, deep in his guts, tightens when her eyes drift down towards his lips. It's a quick movement that might have easily gone unnoticed. But it hasn't, and it draws him in. His heart sets a bruising rhythm in his ribcage, the thin bones aching as he leans forward slowly.

 

A part of him that never knew how to be brave and hopeful almost waits for her to pull back, to look at him with disgust. But she never does, and then her eyes flutter shut, long lashes against milky skin, the scent of peaches in the air.

 

His lips meet hers shyly. It's not even a kiss, and for a few seconds Daryl simply feels stunned by the sensation. Her lips are soft, warm despite their slight tint of blue and her breath tickles his skin like the first warm breezes of spring. By his side, his fingers ball into a fist, and a sound bubbles up from his throat that sounds foreign and uncontrolled.

 

Carol melts beneath him then, and suddenly her fingers find his, slipping in between easily, coarse wool against his calloused skin. His own eyes drift shut when she presses her lips more firmly into his. It's still soft as silk and innocent as a lamb, but it's a kiss now and that alone sets his blood on fire and numbs his brain.

 

They part too quickly, their foreheads drawn to each other and he's too reluctant to open his eyes, too afraid of what he will have to say or do when all he truly wants is to bottle this moment. Freeze time.

 

He shudders when a cold and suddenly bare hand finds his neck, idle fingers sifting into his hair and holding him in place. Soft lips find the corner of his mouth.

 

They both release a shuddering breath when he smiles shyly into the kiss that follows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title taken from _Falling Slowly_ by Glen Hansard  & Marketa Irglova.
> 
> That's it. I can't believe how quickly this month passed, but I hope you all had as much fun with this little series as I did. Thank you so much for the kind words, they mean the world to me ❤


End file.
